Wherever We Choose To Be
by magfreak
Summary: Only months after they married in Ireland, Sybil and Tom are back at Downton to celebrate Christmas as depicted in the S2 Christmas Special. Awkward and endearing reunions and revelations abound as Richard and Mary's relationship breaks down, and Bates awaits trial for murder. An S/T Secret Santa fic for Yankee Countess.
1. Chapter 1

_Merry Christmas to Yankee Countess! For her Secret Santa fic, she requested an AU in which Sybil and Tom return to celebrate for the Christmas depicted on the Series 2 Christmas Special. This shall be a two-parter, so a bit more to come yet. _

_Hope you enjoy!_

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><p>"It feels like it's too soon."<p>

Sybil turned her head toward her husband as the motor, driven by Pratt, made it's way through Downton village and toward the house, the same house that only months ago they'd left as daughter and chauffeur. The house they were returning to now as husband and wife.

"It'll always be too soon," Sybil said, taking Tom's hand with a smile. "I dare say papa is thinking the same thing."

Sybil watched Tom as his lips perked up into a smirk and he turned to the window, his eyes pausing momentarily on the back of Pratt's head. Meeting him at the station had been the first of what would likely be many awkward encounters with his former coworkers. Sybil knew well enough that Tom did not regret loving her and crossing the un-crossable line to be with her, but while she believed the ties of family would eventually win out in the estrangement between herself and the ones she had left behind at Downton, the friendships that Tom had severed—dear to him in so many ways—might not recover so easily.

He had expressed misgivings on Sybil's behalf about returning to Downton so soon after they'd left and so soon after her parents had snubbed her and declined to attend their wedding, but she knew that his concerns about how he'd be received did not end with how her family would welcome him. For that very reason, when Cora's letter arrived asking if they would come, Sybil felt an opportunity for both of them to mend fences. Her instinct to try to make things right came from her mother, who was always averse to conflict and whose words in the letter revealed a conciliatory tone obviously influenced by the hurt she still felt not only about her daughter's choices, but also about regrets regarding her willingness to be guided by Robert when it came to how to deal with those choices.

After the day of Sybil's wedding passed, Cora spent many months wishing she'd done differently and by the time Christmas neared, not even the husband she was usually so eager to appease could stop her from sending the invitation. Sybil welcomed the chance to be with her family again at a time that was, but for their absence, the happiest in her life, and she welcomed the chance to show everyone that despite how they might feel about the match she had made, she would not retreat in shame. There was also the matter of the secret she was keeping—a gift that she knew would remind everyone of what truly mattered.

As the car approached the house, Sybil smiled seeing the family and some of the staff gathered to receive them. Looking back at Tom, she said, "It'll be hard, I know, but I feel no shame in our choices. We're coming to see family for Christmas, that's all. If anyone chooses to make more of it than it is, that's on them, isn't it? I am not the prodigal daughter returning to repent. I'm coming to share in my joy. Don't you want to do that?"

Tom smiled at the sentiment and squeezed her hand, but cheekily said, "I doubt your father or Mr. Carson want to share anything with me."

"Well, it's Christmas so we shall call them 'Scrooges' and be done with it."

She turned back to the window again, and Tom couldn't help but smile. It would be a gauntlet, but he would endure much worse for her.

xxx

The welcome was cordial, if a bit awkward, and over quickly, a fact for which Tom was grateful. It felt odd hearing the family call him, "Tom," and he could see from their faces that it felt just as odd for them to be saying it. He eyed Carson on his way in the door, and the butler, solemn as always, offered only a nod in acknowledgment. Carson's expression was not so obviously indignant as Tom might have expected. Inside, the family continued to fawn over Sybil. Cora, Edith and Mary were as delighted to see her as she was to see her mother and sisters, and the happy smile on her face was enough to convince Tom that whatever nuisances and embarrassments the visit would bring, they would all be worth it.

As they arrived late in the afternoon, tea was waiting for them in the library. Robert, who had been decidedly less warm to both Sybil and Tom compared with the rest of the family, excused himself. Sybil wasn't especially put off by it and suggested to Tom that he could go on to her old room if he wanted to forego tea as well, so he'd have the chance to rest and unpack their suitcases (she knew he'd never let one of the servants perform the task anyway). Tom was only too happy to oblige and give her time alone with Cora, Mary and Edith.

He smiled walking into the room, having pictured Sybil here many, many times before he knew he'd ever have the chance to step into it as her husband. He walked up to the window and looked out onto the vast grounds, imagining a younger version of Sybil standing there dreaming about the places beyond the horizon. He knew she hadn't needed him to venture forth beyond what her eyes could see from this vantage point, but even so he was still proud of the new places he'd taken her to, including her new home in Ireland.

He'd only been standing at the window several minutes when the bedroom door opened. It was Anna.

"Oh! Mr. Branson! I thought you'd be at tea downstairs. I'm so sorry." She moved to leave again, but Tom spoke up to stop her.

"No, Anna, there's no need—I mean, you don't have to go on my account. It's nice to see you."

Anna smiled, though Tom could see that her spark had dimmed considerably since he'd seen her last, worries over Mr. Bates' fate no doubt weighing on her. "It's nice to see you too," she said. "You look well."

Tom looked down a bit self-consciously at his suit. "Well enough, I hope, anyway."

"Did you have a pleasant journey?"

"We did." He took a breath, then continued, "I . . . I'm sorry that we're not meeting under happier circumstances for you. Mary has kept us informed as to what's happening with Mr. Bates. I hope you don't mind that. I do wish there was something we could do."

Anna looked down and wrung her hands. "The trial is not until after Christmas. Mr. Murray seems to think things will fall in our favor."

"I'm sure waiting for the date hasn't been easy."

Anna shook her head with a rueful smile. "No, but the family's been very supportive."

Tom smiled sadly. "He's an easy man to like, Mr. Bates, so that's no surprise."

Anna smiled again. "I'm glad to see you, and I'm glad you've come back. They won't be easy on you—the lot downstairs—but also not as hard as you might expect."

"Thank you for that."

Anna nodded. "Well, I'll be going."

"Please do whatever you needed to do, really. I don't mind. Unless I'd be in your way, in which case I can make myself scarce."

"I was only going to open the wardrobe. Lady Grantham asked that I bring out some of Lady Sybil's old frocks while she was here. I'd set something out for her for dinner, but she was always of her own mind about what to wear. Can't imagine that's changed."

Tom chuckled. "She's of her own mind about everything." He looked down at his clothes again for a moment, then added, jokingly. "There's not anything in there for me, is there?"

Anna laughed lightly and looked at him for a long moment with her kind eyes. "I think you look fine." She walked over and pulled the wardrobe doors open, pulling out several pieces that Tom recognized and hung them on the doors so Sybil would have her pick. Anna pulled at some of the material as it hung to smooth it out. Once she was done, she headed for the door again. Before she closed it behind her, she said, "I suppose I'll see you in the main hall tomorrow."

"Oh? For what?"

"Have you forgotten already? The whole family is present when the staff receive their gifts, and, well, you're part of the family now."

"Right," Tom said quietly, the familiar scene, the memories, laying out before him in his mind.

Without another word, Anna stepped out of the room.

Tom walked over to the bed and sat down, his shoulders drooping.

_You're part of the family now._

He let out a long sigh. "Crickey."

xxx

"What are you thinking about?"

Tom turned his head on his pillow and saw Sybil on her side, smiling at him. "Have you been awake long?" he asked. "You looked like you were sleeping like the dead only a few minutes ago."

"I was," Sybil said, stretching out her limbs toward him to pull him into her again. She snickered realizing that they were both still naked from the waist down.

_Dinner had been torturous and long for them both, peppered with judgmental quips and eye-rolls, along with uncomfortable, if sometimes well meaning, segues that only served to highlight how ill at ease everyone at the table felt. Afterward, Sybil had to endure the thinly-veiled taunts of her Aunt Rosamund over bridge in the drawing room, while Tom took judgment from a different set downstairs, where he'd gone to say hello in an effort to remind his old friends he still considered himself one of them. Mrs. Hughes, like Anna, was happy to see him and even seemed proud, but Carson's eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him much more sternly than they had in the dining room while he'd been serving. It was one thing for Carson to have to treat Tom as a member of the family upstairs, but quite another for Carson to see Tom so eager to cross back over the un-crossable line and be chummy with the staff, as if he'd never left. _

_At the end of that first day, Tom and Sybil were both mentally and emotionally exhausted, but not so much so that they didn't enjoy making love on Sybil's childhood bedroom, a pleasure both had been looking forward to since they'd left Ireland, if for no other reason than to once again thumb their noses at a system that otherwise would never have allowed Tom to so much as set foot in that very space. Just before sleep overtook them, Sybil remembered that a maid would be coming in early to open the curtains. She pulled her nightdress back on, but only down to her waist, and Tom likewise re-dressed his top half, allowing their bottom limbs to remain deliciously tangled beneath the coverlet as they finally closed their eyes to the world._

As they snuggled together, with the light of the morning peeking in form the windows, Tom felt Sybil begin to doze off again. "You must be quite tired," he said.

"The journey really wore me out, and I never had any rest before dinner," Sybil answered, smiling to herself knowing that travel wasn't the only reason for her current level of energy.

"Which was its own kind of grueling marathon," Tom said with a smirk, settling into her. "I honestly thought we were stuck in a nightmare and the courses and the putdowns would keep coming forever."

"Me too," Sybil said with a sigh. "I'm sorry they were so impolite. The worst part is that papa likely thought _we _were rude for not dressing properly."

"_You _could have dressed for dinner," Tom said, pointing toward the wardrobe, now closed but still full of all the dresses Anna had retrieved for Sybil.

"And cast you to the wolves on your own on our first night back?"

Tom laughed. "I appreciate the solidarity, but as odd a thing to say as this may be, I do think you look very fine in those frocks. I wouldn't have minded seeing you in one of them—even if it would have singled me out."

Sybil smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Well, if I wear any of them, it shall be to please myself and you, but not them. Not papa or Aunt Rosamund, anyway. Mama is trying to meet us halfway and I appreciate that. Granny was at least kind enough to send the money for us to come. I am happy to be back for a visit, however little I missed the nuisances that came with life here."

"I would have missed this bed," Tom said, poking her side and causing her to squirm.

"It wasn't so nicely comfortable when I was sleeping in it alone."

Tom pulled her in for a long kiss, after which she laid her head on his chest and felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he let out a long sigh. "Must I really stand with the family when gifts are handed out? I could just stay in here—fake sick or something."

Sybil pushed herself up on her elbow and looked down on him, pushing his hair back off his forehead with her fingers. "Darling, I know this visit feels like one awkward encounter after another, but how different is it, really, from my first week in Ireland? We made it through that."

Tom couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Sybil smiled, happy that she was getting through. "You told me that letting your mother make me uncomfortable was like conceding that I didn't belong there, so now I will repeat what you said to me: We belong wherever we choose to be. We married because we loved one another, and we knew that the line separating us was an artificial one."

Tom lifted his hand to caress her cheek. "And we'll be crossing it everyday until we die."

Sybil nodded. She looked into his eyes for a moment and bit her lip, thinking of the secret she had yet to reveal to him. "But our children . . . they won't—they won't even see it."

Tom sighed, but Sybil could see a smile forming on his face. "Revolution is hard work."

"Harder in some ways than others."

"What do you mean?"

Sybil smiled slyly. "Well, you'll need to go down for breakfast soon, but here at Downton, married women get breakfast in bed."

xxx

Later that morning, once the servants had come up and lined up to receive their gifts, Sybil joined her father, mother and sisters next to the table where they'd been set up. It was the first time that she was seeing many of them since her return the day before, so she welcomed the opportunity to greet them and give everyone her and Tom's best wishes. Tom stood off to the side with Matthew, Isobel, Rosamund and Sir Richard. Several of the servants eyed him as they returned to their line, but the morning went off uneventfully.

Once the gifts had all been distributed, the staff retreated back to the servants hall, where they would enjoy an early Christmas "dinner" while the family served themselves a modest luncheon, from dishes that had been laid out for that purpose earlier that morning in the library. This was another well-established tradition that Tom was familiar with, so it surprised him when, as the family moved on to exchanging gifts, a member of the party questioned it.

"Why do we have to help ourselves at luncheon?" Sir Richard asked, from his seat on the sofa next to Mary.

"It's Downton tradition," Robert replied, as he unwrapped the silver letter opener engraved with a Celtic design that Sybil had brought for him. "They have their feast at lunch time and we have ours in the evening."

Richard was not satisfied with the answer. "But why can't they have their lunch early and then serve us . . . like they normally do?"

"Because it's Christmas Day," Mary said, with a slight exasperation in her voice that Sybil couldn't help but take note of.

"It's not how we'll do it at Hacksby," Richard said dismissively.

"They work incredibly hard, every day all year long," Sybil said, unable to stop herself from putting in a word. "Are you really unwilling to offer your servants an afternoon's reprieve. That seems rather unforgiving."

Richard shifted his gaze to Sybil, who was sitting on the sofa across from him. She met his stare almost eagerly, wanting to look into the eyes of the man her sister intended to marry.

"If I pay them a fair salary, why should I expect anything but the best service?" he asked. "I am asking neither for their loyalty, nor their allegiance, only their labor, for which they are duly compensated. That's the difference between a man who made his own fortune, as I did, and a peer."

"_What _is the difference?" Robert asked, his brow furrowing. Tom had been standing next to Matthew by the table where tea had been served. As he watched Robert, it seemed to Tom that this was a path Robert wasn't interesting in heading down, but Robert couldn't help himself but ask the question.

Richard's lips—usually set in a firm, humorless line—curled into a small smile. "Those who inherit wealth are sometimes inclined to proffer magnanimity toward those who are beneath them. You call it your duty. I call it guilt."

"Guilt?" Sybil repeated.

"Guilt about enjoying the spoils of others' efforts. As a self-made man I carry no such burden. You see a servant's labor as deference. I see it merely as employment, and I've worked just as hard as any of the people who work for me. With respect, Lady Sybil, you wouldn't now anything about that."

"She knows plenty about hard work," Tom spoke up.

Richard's eyes—as well as everyone else's—turned to him. Richard's smile suddenly became a smirk, which unsettled Tom.

"She's a nurse," Tom added.

"I was here during the war," Richard said. "I remember. Nursing is work of a sort, I grant you, but wheeling officers around the grounds and serving them tea, isn't exactly hard labor. Her sisters did as much for the war effort and they're not taking more credit than is their due."

It was Tom's turn to smirk. "I wasn't talking about during the war. I don't suppose you know anything about Ireland, but finding employment and keeping it isn't easy if you're a married woman, an Anglican or an English aristocrat. Sybil is all three and not only managed to find a job, her work is so well regarded in the few short months she's been employed, she's come to earn more than I do in a given month."

"You must be very proud," Richard said with an eye roll.

"I am," Tom said, and turned to look at Sybil across the room, who was smiling proudly back at him. "But then newspapermen tend to be misers when it comes to wages. And they tend to forget that _all_ employers, no matter who they are, have a duty to those who work for them to share in the spoils they earn together. Lord Grantham's pride never came between himself and those in his service—that's the kind of person good employees seek out. The laws of supply and demand apply to the labor market too. I would think a capitalist like yourself would understand that."

Richard looked around and all eyes were on him again. Robert's chin was up as if it had been him and not Tom, who'd had the last word. The same family that had turned their nose up at their daughter's choice of husband suddenly seemed to be standing behind the very son-in-law they'd once spurned. Richard laughed at the irony. "I admire your moxie, Mr. Branson and your ambition, if nothing else," he said. "Though if you want to end up where I am, you'll let go of your socialist notions now."

"As you're both standing in this library having Christmas tea with us, I do believe he's already where you are," Violet said with an arched brow.

Next to Violet, Robert examined the letter opener once more and then, looking over at Sybil, said, "This is beautiful, darling, thank you." It was as much as he'd said since she'd been back.

"You're welcome, papa," she replied. "I thought you might like it."

Violet, who had also just opened one of her gifts, said, "Oh, this is nice. This is—what is it?"

"What does it look like?" Isobel asked approaching her.

Violet fidgeted with the trinket. "Something for getting stones out of horses' hooves?"

"It's a nut cracker," Isobel said, seeming rather pleased with herself. "We thought you'd like it . . . to crack your nuts."

Tom raised an eyebrow at Matthew, who said with a laugh, "That was entirely mother's doing."

Tom smiled and moved to refill his teacup.

"Who'd have thought you'd be the one who'd put him in his place," Matthew said quietly.

"Well, there's nothing for me to lose, is there? Certainly not anyone's good opinion."

"I'd wager the tides are turning on that score."

"I doubt it."

Matthew looked past Tom, toward Robert, who was walking in their direction. "Stranger things have happened."

Tom turned to see Robert come up behind them to take another biscuit from the tray. "That was well stated," Robert said.

Matthew smiled knowingly as Tom nodded, a bit in shock at Robert's words.

"Though I won't say he's wrong about the socialism," Robert added.

Tom bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. "We can't all agree on everything."

"Is it true what you said about your wages and Sybil's?" Robert asked.

"Only partially true," Sybil said, joining their conversation. "The paper owes all the writers back wages. If Tom were paid on time, my wage wouldn't matter so much."

"Why not find another newspaper to work for?" Matthew asked.

"I work for a Republican publication," Tom answered. "None of us are there for the wages."

Robert stiffened slightly, but Sybil slipped her hand into Tom's in a show of support.

"So, who's coming for the shooting?" Edith asked from the other corner of the room.

"The usual guns," Robert answered. "Us three and some locals. You'll know all of them."

"Three?" Matthew said. "Aren't you shooting, Tom?"

Robert turned again toward Tom. "I assumed you wouldn't be interested. Was that wrong?"

"No," Tom said. "It wasn't. I have no interest in shooting for sport, and no rifles to my name in any case."

"You could both still walk out with us," Matthew said.

"Well, I have no interest in _watching_ people shooting for sport," Sybil said, with a smile.

"What about Anthony Strallan?" Edith asked Robert. "Have you asked him?"

"I tried," Robert said. "In fact, I gave him three dates, but he said no to all of them. Perhaps he's given it up."

"But he was so keen before the war," Edith said.

"Perhaps he's had enough banging for one life," Violet said.

The talk of the shooting party continued, but Sybil stopped listening as she saw Mary excuse herself and step out. Sybil followed her.

"Is everything all right?" Sybil asked after they were both in the hall away from the others.

Mary turned toward Sybil, as if startled not to find herself alone. "Of course, why wouldn't it be?"

Sybil smiled. "No reason."

Mary smiled back. "You should thank me, you know."

"How do you mean?"

"Thanks to Richard, even Tom won't be the most disliked son-in-law in the family."

Sybil's smile faded. "It doesn't matter how mama or papa feel about it if you love him."

Mary looked away but said nothing.

"Do you?" Sybil pressed.

"I love you for worrying about me, darling," Mary said. "But you know that everything I do is my own choice. I'd never have accepted his proposal if I didn't want to marry him." Mary paused, then said. "I just need to go to my room for a moment. I'll be back shortly."

As Sybil watched Mary head up the stairs, she couldn't help but think to herself that Mary had failed to answer her question. Mary was less than happy—that much was obvious to Sybil, but Mary also seemed determined not to change course. That she'd choosen a man like Richard Carlisle didn't particularly surprise Sybil, who knew that Mary—like her father—kept "marriage" and "love" in separate boxes in her mind. Robert had been lucky in that a loveless match ultimately grew into a loving union, but Sybil couldn't help but wonder whether it would turn out so easy for her eldest sister.

With a long sigh, Sybil went back into the library, where Isobel and Violet had just handed Tom a rather large box to open. Sybil smiled with delight. Her parents and sisters had each given her a gift, and Mary and Edith had given Tom a plain leather journal, but neither Sybil nor Tom had expected anyone else in the family to have anything for him—which he was perfectly happy about, given the likelihood that whatever he received from the family might be impractical, even useless, back in Ireland, in a life very far removed from anything the Crawleys would be familiar with. Such was his shock, then, when Violet approached with Isobel holding the gift behind her.

"Granny!" Sybil said, coming up to them. "What a lovely gesture."

"Well, it's from the both of us," Violet said, gesturing to Isobel.

"I contributed as well," Matthew said with a knowing smile.

"Do you know about this?" Sybil asked her father and mother.

"Not a thing," Cora answered.

"I'm as intrigued as you," Robert said.

Addressing Tom, Violet said, "Do open it and put them out of their misery—though before you do, you must know that I shall be very insulted if you do not make use of it."

Tom smiled, and so did Sybil, seeing a bit of nervousness in him. "I'm very touched. I'll admit it. Thank you."

Violet waved her hand as if to urge him on, and Tom unlaced the ribbon around the box and, with Sybil's help, lifted off the top.

It was a set of tails.

Tom scratched his head. "I don't know what to say."

"You and Sybil are both so very practical," Isobel said kindly, "we know you'd never bother with purchasing something that's of no use to you in Dublin."

"It's awfully kind," Sybil said, "but you really needn't have bothered either."

"Sybil's right," Tom said, "I don't—"

"Oh, we didn't bother," Violet said quickly, eager to head Tom off. "This formerly belonged to Matthew."

"It's what I wore when mother and I first came to dinner at Downton," he said. "The only one I had at the time, I'm not embarrassed to admit. Living here, though, my wardrobe has grown more than I ever would have thought, so now I have plenty to spare. You'll only ever need just the one."

Tom swallowed what he'd initially intended to say about the silliness of such costumes and the oppression they represented, because whatever Violet's message might have been, Tom saw nothing in Matthew's intent but a gesture of friendship. Tom smiled sincerely as Matthew patted him on the back.

"There is the matter of making it fit," Violet said. "Moseley has told us he's the man for the job. He'll be by later this afternoon, and we'll be happy to supervise."

Sybil laughed. "What do you know of tailoring, granny?"

"I know how it _should_ look. I dare say women are expert in that field in a way men will never be."

"Thank you," Tom said.

"Do you like it?" Violet asked pointedly.

Tom smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Sybil cut in, "Do you like your nutcracker?"

Violet pursed her lips in annoyance at her granddaughter's cheek. "My mother used to say it was bad luck to greet Christmas or the New Year not looking your very best. We're only trying to help Tom meet the New Year appropriately."

Sybil put her hand on Tom's shoulder and proudly said, "I happen to think Tom doesn't need much help in that regard, as he always looks very fine to me, but we appreciate it, nonetheless."

"Will you wear it?" Violet asked.

"I will," Tom said with a sigh, realizing it was useless to fight on this front, especially on Christmas.

Sybil knew what it meant for Tom to say those words. He was making a concession, but he was doing it for her, for her family. Without care to what everyone would say, she leaned in on the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

xxx

That evening, as Tom and Sybil walked the stairs down arm-in-arm, she in one of her old frocks and he in such finery only for the first time, he said quietly, "I never realized getting dressed could be so painful."

Sybil laughed in his ear and whispered, "Well, you look _very _fine, and we will enjoy getting _undressed_ ever more now."

Tom grinned. "I don't suppose your grandmother thought about that."

Sybil stopped halfway down the stairs to look Tom in the eye. "Merry Christmas, darling."

Tom leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, love."


	2. Chapter 2

_OK, so anyone who knows me or knows my writing will not be surprised when I say that though this chapter was supposed to be the second of two, it will now be the second of three. I know, I know. I write way too long. I just realized that to get to the end of the story it made sense to break up this part where it currently ends and leave the rest of the action for a new final chapter. I hope that you all are enjoying this enough that you won't mind it going a little longer :P_

_Anyway, before I start, a couple of things to point out. First, the series 2 Christmas special takes place over the course of several weeks (and possibly a month), which is way too long for Sybil and Tom to spend at the house, so for the purposes of having them there at Christmas and the servants ball (which YC specifically requested), I had to move up the servants ball so that it took place on New Year's Eve, so that they are only at Downton a week. That meant moving Bates' trial to between Christmas and New Years (the 29th of December) and also moving the shooting party earlier (to the 30th of December). You'll see what happens with that particular event in this chapter. There are several elements of the CS that I am ignoring entirely, including the whole nonsense downstairs with the Ouija board (sorry, no messages from dead Lavinia in this one) as well as the subplot with Rosamund and Lord Hepworth (who, if you remember wanted to marry Rosamund but was boning her maid) and Thomas "losing" Isis (I tried to fit that one in, but this was getting way too long). _

_Lastly, this particular chapter takes place almost entirely on the day of the Bates trial. It deals with something that I've never really touched on in fic, which is Sybil finding out about Mary and Pamuk and the letter Edith sent to the Turkish embassy. I know that this is a touchy subject for some who feel strongly, either on Mary's side or Edith's, but my perspective regarding Sybil and what I tried to show here is that she loves both of her sisters and doesn't judge either of them. She doesn't want to be caught in the middle of their rivalry and she wants them to see the good that she sees in each of them. _

* * *

><p>Despite the discomfort brought on by his new fancy clothes (not even his strict mother had ever succeeded in getting him to sit up so straight as his starched dress shirt did), even Tom could admit that he enjoyed celebrating Christmas at Downton. He could see that Sybil was happy to be among family she thought she might be estranged from forever—so much so that she seemed to be glowing from the inside. That would have been enough for him, but thanks to Matthew and Isobel, Tom felt more and more welcome as the visit went on.<p>

In the late afternoon on Christmas, Tom and Sybil had snuck off to Ripon for mass at the Catholic church there, returning just in time to change for dinner. The meal itself was another seemingly endless array of overly rich and indulgent foods, but delicious and not marked by any of the tension or thinly veiled barbs that Tom and Sybil had had to contend with their first night at the house. In fact, just as Matthew had said, Tom's words to Richard earlier that day had served to break the ice between him and the family. They all knew Tom would never truly consider himself one of them or put himself on their side so far as politics were concerned (neither would Sybil, on that score, if they had to be honest). Nevertheless, Tom had shown in his willingness to return so soon that he would not put himself between Sybil and her family and in his rebuke to Richard Carlisle that he was not unwilling stand up for the Crawleys when the occasion called for it—a brand of family loyalty that moved even Robert and that the likes of Cora and Violet always repaid in kind.

When dinner was over and the party had all gone to the parlor, playing "the game" turned them all into silly fools in a way that Tom had never anticipated was possible for their ilk. Sybil had told him about it on the way to Downton, but if he'd tried, he could never have imagined the spectacle of people usually so stoic and reserved acting so willingly unselfconscious for the sake of friendly family competition—and at times, not so friendly. At one point, Robert, in a fit of over-competitiveness, practically threatened to disinherit Matthew when he was unable to make a correct guess based on gestures from Robert that no one in their right mind could decipher. Everyone (except for the still entirely humorless Sir Richard) had a hearty laugh at Robert's expense. It made Tom wonder if the scene would be all that different, other than the clothes and setting, if his own siblings were there playing with him. His enjoyment of the game was helped, of course, by the fact that he and Sybil together turned out to be quite good at it, each able to easily guess the other's intent with barely a gesture. The two got so good, in fact, that after three rounds, everyone else insisted on putting them on separate teams.

The days that followed were quiet and uneventful by comparison, which Sybil and Tom welcomed, as it gave them time to go on walks to the village, explore the estate and reminisce about the time they had spent there as their friendship and love grew. They loved the bustling city they now called home, but they both could also admit that they missed the quiet of the country and welcomed this chance to enjoy it again at least for the time they'd remain at Downton before they returned to Dublin just after the new year came. The holiday would have been quite perfect, in fact, had it not been for the dark shadow that Bates' looming trial cast over the house as the date, the 29th of December, grew nearer.

Robert, Mrs. Hughes and Miss O'Brien had been called to testify—the latter two by the prosecution, which Murray, Robert's lawyer, didn't know what to make of and which made tensions and nerves downstairs all the more thick and frayed. On the fated day, it took two cars to accommodate the entire group that was meant to go, which also included Mary, who'd be there to support Anna, as well as Isobel and Matthew, who'd volunteered to help explain the process as it went along. Sybil and Tom had wanted to go as well. Tom had considered Bates a friend and wanted to show his support in some way, but he and Sybil ultimately agreed that it was best to stay out of the way and not complicate the journey to York, where the trial would take place, by increasing the number of travelers.

Once they were gone, the morning crept by slowly. In the library, Tom took his time reading through all of the day's newspapers as Edith and Sybil talked about Sybil's life in Ireland and Edith's here at Downton in an effort to keep their minds off the trial. Cora joined them briefly, but eventually went back to her room to lie down, informing them that she'd likely just take a tray in her room for luncheon. Edith would be eating at the Dower House, having been invited by Violet. Sybil and Tom chose to make the walk to the Grantham Arms to get some air and so the staff would not have to worry about cooking only for them.

Once there at the pub, as they tucked into their meal, Sybil let out a deep sigh.

"What is it, love?" Tom asked, concerned.

"I was just thinking . . . Lavinia died just before we left Downton. When papa gave us his blessing, I was happy—not because I felt like we _needed _it, but because it gave me some hope that our family wouldn't always be divided. I was so happy at the time, in fact, I didn't think about how such a joyful event came in the wake of such a sad one. And now, Bates is battling for his life while we . . ."

"While we what?"

Sybil blushed and shook her head. "Nothing. I just mean. We're here and are enjoying ourselves on our own terms . . . life's joys and sorrows are always intermingled, it seems."

Tom smiled softly and took her hand across the table. "If it weren't for the joys, we couldn't make it through the sorrows. How much harder would bearing the cost of the war had been, the loss of William and others we knew, if our friendship hadn't been there to bear us up?"

Sybil smiled back, her eyes seeming to glisten with tears.

"Besides," Tom continued. "We can still hope that the trial won't bring sorrow, but rather clear Mr. Bates' name once and for all."

"I certainly hope that's the case."

After they'd finished, they took their time walking back to the house, hoping that the longer they delayed, the more likely it would be that news of the trial's resolution would be awaiting them upon their return. There was no such luck, however, so they retreated to the library again to wait for any news. Not too long after, they'd each settled in with a book, Carson came in to tell them that Edith was back from Violet's, but when she didn't come down right away, Sybil sought her out in her room.

"Is everything all right?" Sybil asked after coming in.

"Yes, I was just thinking," Edith responded from her spot at her desk.

"Oh, do you want me to leave you alone?"

Edith smiled. "No, it's all right."

"How was granny's?" Sybil asked, sitting down on Edith's bed.

"Fine . . . good, actually. She invited Anthony Strallan. Turns out the reason he's been declining papa's invitations is that he was injured during the war and doesn't have use of one of his arms, so he can't shoot."

"Is he all right?"

"It seems so, other than that. He seemed his usual cordial self, anyway."

Sybil noticed a hint of a blush forming on Edith's cheeks. "Do you still like him?"

The question seemed to catch Edith off guard. "Oh . . . well, he's a nice man. I suppose I do."

"You know, before the war started, he seemed rather keen on you—I remember you telling mama that he might propose. Do you ever wonder why he didn't?"

If Sybil's first question took Edith off guard, the second one seemed to upset her deeply. She jumped to her feet and walked to the window. "I think I would like to be alone now if you don't mind."

Startled at her reaction, Sybil said gently, "I'm sorry. That was an impertinent question. I shouldn't have asked. Obviously, it's a sensitive subject, but . . . if you want to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen."

"There's nothing to talk about," Edith said, in a closed off voice. "That chance came and went, and as with everything truly horrible in life, which is most of it, the reason was of my own making."

"But maybe there's still hope! If—"

"Never mind, Sybil, please."

Sybil sighed. "All right, then. I'll be in the library if you need anything." Sybil had her hand on the doorknob when she turned again toward Edith and added, "You and Mary both seem burdened by something you won't speak of. I wish I could be here for both of you, but short of that, I wish you'd be there for each other."

"I'm afraid Mary and I are past help, and I do wish you'd go before I say more and you end up hating me as much as she does."

"I could never hate you."

Edith turned to Sybil, redeyed. "If I told you this, you would."

"Is whatever _this_ is also the reason that Anthony didn't propose?"

Edith nodded.

"What could it possibly have to do with Mary's unhappiness?"

Edith sighed. "Do you remember the Turk who stayed here years ago?"

"The one who died in his sleep?"

"Some time after that happened, Daisy told me that she saw Mary, Anna and mama dragging his body out of Mary's room."

Sybil gasped. "You mean he . . ."

"Died in her bed."

Sybil brought her hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh poor, Mary. I can only imagine it was a terrifying experience. And mama and Anna! I wouldn't blanch at a dead body now, but as a war nurse, death is all around you. They must have been horribly traumatized."

Edith rubbed her eyes with her hands. "You've missed the part where the Turk was _in Mary's room_, Sybil. He spent the night there."

Sybil sighed. "I haven't. I'm assuming Mary had her reasons for that and leaving it alone." She laughed lightly, then added. "That's another thing that war taught me. Women who hold on to their virtue are no better than the ones who don't—except they have a lot less fun."

Edith stiffened as Sybil spoke, as if hearing a rebuke for her own judgment and behavior in Sybil's more progressive view. Sybil noticed and said, "If you think differently, I can hardly blame you. The manner in which we were brought up requires women to fit in these very confining boxes, and we're taught that deviation from a certain path is the worst that may happen. If you thought the worst of Mary, you'd only be doing what would be expected of you, given that education. I made a deviation of a different kind, so it'd be silly for me to find fault in Mary for such a thing, but I also say that with the benefit of hindsight. We were all younger back then. Who knows how I would have responded to the knowledge at the time?"

"Would you have written a letter to the Turkish embassy with all the details?"

Sybil laughed uneasily. "Write to the Turkish embassy? What an absurd suggestion! Who would—"

Sybil stopped short, meeting Edith's eyes again and realizing that her sister had not offered up a hypothetical, but in fact had made a confession.

"Edith!" Sybil exclaimed in shock, standing from the bed when she'd finally gotten her bearings. "How could you do such a thing!? _Why_ would you do it?"

Edith brought her hand to her forehead to cover her eyes, and her shoulders began to shake.

Sybil stepped toward her and placed her hand on Edith's back, but Edith immediately recoiled.

"I told you, you would hate me," Edith said.

"Can you at least explain?" Sybil asked quietly.

Edith rubbed the tears from her eyes and sighed. "There's no real point. I had my reasons, but if I state them aloud they sound ridiculous and petty, which I suppose they are."

"What could Mary have done to deserve your enmity on that level? I understand that she's been cold to you, but—"

"You couldn't possibly understand, Sybil. Every taunt about how I looked, or the way my hair was or the clothing I wore or the fact that no young man wanted my company—they pecked away at me because they were all proven true."

"Edith, that's not—"

"Please don't insult my intelligence by denying it, Sybil. You two are beautiful and I am plain. It's been confirmed by every person in my life, intentionally or not." Edith took a deep breath. "How many times do you remember skipping a dance at your debut?"

Sybil looked down without answering. She did not remember sitting down that night.

"I danced only four dances at mine, two were with Patrick, and one with papa. That wasn't Mary's fault. Neither was it her fault that I spent the rest of my first season and every season after in the corner of every ballroom watching every young man in London walk past me as if I were a potted plant on their way to fawn over her, but when it happened, she would always be there to twist the knife. She'd look over at me with one cutting expression and laugh. So it _became_ her fault in my mind. Not just the fact that there was no hope for me—everything that was wrong with my life became her fault. Happiness and mirth were a zero-sum game. If she was happy, that meant there could be no happiness for me. The only hope I had of winning was to make her as miserable as I always felt. It was petty jealousy, but I let it grow inside me until there was nothing else."

Edith paused again and wiped a tear that had come down her cheek. "Do you remember when Matthew first came, how snobbish Mary was? She insulted and belittled him so plainly even granny had to apologize for her. I tried to be his friend, and . . . he couldn't be rid of me fast enough. I invited him out to see some churches and when I did I could see that there was actual fear behind his eyes, as if my liking him was the worst possible thing that could happen. Then he told Mary, of all people, that he had no interest in me because no amount of cruelty from her could stop him from falling in love with _her_, of course, and she threw it back in my face like she always did, and . . . I snapped. A hundred tiny bullets—all of them insignificant in everyone's mind but mine, I'm sure—shot by her over a lifetime repaid by one firing of the canon from me. I'm not proud, but I couldn't stop myself. And now he we are, as if I'd never written that wretched letter. She's about to marry and move into Hacksby Park, and me the spinster I was always meant to be."

Sybil watched Edith for a long time. The whole of Edith's being seemed burdened by the things she was taught to want but that she'd convinced herself she'd never have. Sybil thought about Anthony Strallan again. "I don't understand what this has to do with Sir Anthony."

Edith laughed humorlessly. "Don't you see? She drove Anthony away. She found out about the letter and made up some silly fiction that kept him from proposing."

"But why didn't you correct it? Tell him the truth?"

Edith sighed. "I suppose deep down I knew I deserved it. It was a just punishment, wouldn't you say? Why fight the inevitable."

Sybil bit her lip and wrung her hands for a moment before speaking. "I won't pretend that you didn't do a terrible thing, Edith. You could have done great harm to Mary's reputation and her future, but you are right in that there's no greater punishment or lesson for you than you suffering the consequences of what you did along with her. Because, you see, Mary doesn't love Richard Carlisle. I don't know why she agreed to marry him or whether it has anything to do with this, but she's not happy. I can tell."

Edith looked down. "Well, I can't undo it now."

"I'm not blaming you, darling. I'm only asking that you see the very many things that you and Mary share in common and not always focus on what makes you different. There is more of the former than the latter."

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Edith replied.

Tom opened the door. "Pardon me, I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a telegram from Matthew downstairs. Your mother wants everyone together when it's opened."

"We'll be down shortly," Sybil said.

Tom nodded and closed the door again.

Edith took a deep breath. "Go ahead. I just need another moment."

Sybil moved to the door. Before opening it, she said, "I don't hate you, Edith, and I know that you'll think this is easy for me to say, but you aren't an ugly person. You're quite lovely, actually. The ugliness you feel comes from inside, and you'll continue to feel it until you let go of your anger and bitterness. Your happiness is in your hands and yours alone, but you have to make room for it in your heart, and right now it feels like there's too much of the bad things in it. I can't say whether you and Mary will ever be friends, but you shouldn't assume that life has spared her hardship because it hasn't, but neither should she be the stick by which you measure your happiness. What others think doesn't matter—even your own family."

Edith smiled sadly. "I'm not as strong as you are, but thank you for your words, in any case. Let's go down and hope the news will lift us all."

When Sybil and Edith had made it into the library, Carson and Thomas were standing solemnly next to Cora, who held the telegram in her hands, which were shaking. She looked at it for a moment before handing it to Tom. "I can't bear to do it."

Tom took the small piece of paper and opened it carefully. His eyes closed immediately in despair, and it was enough to let everyone know the words the message contained.

"He was found guilty," Tom said quietly, "and sentenced to death."

Cora closed her eyes and took a long breath, as Sybil and Edith held hands. Cora put her hand on Tom's shoulder. "Thank you. I suspect they're on their way now. Carson, please inform everyone downstairs, and let Mrs. Patmore know that we'll have a modest dinner tonight."

"Of course, milady."

"I'll write notes to the guests for the shooting party tomorrow to let them know it will be canceled. I can't imagine his lordship wanting to go forward with that—_I_ don't want to, in any case."

"And the servants' ball, milady?" Carson asked.

Cora sighed. "We'll wait on that decision until they're all back, but I can't imagine anyone will be feeling very festive."

Turning to Sybil, Cora said, "I wish your homecoming hadn't coincided with this, but I am grateful that we'll be all together, in any case."

Sybil stepped forward and embraced her mother. "Me too."

Sybil wondered now whether there would be a time to share her secret. It was a happy one that would lift spirits, but she also didn't want to step on anyone's grief, certainly not Anna's. She'd held the secret this long and realized now she might have to keep it until the return to Dublin.

xxx

When those who'd attended the trial returned a few hours later, those who had stayed behind greeted them in the entrance hall. Robert informed everyone that not all hope was lost. He'd be writing to the Home secretary to ask for a reprieve based on the circumstantial nature of the case and other factors that Murray and Matthew had identified. Murray would be taking the letter back to London that very night. Life in prison would be the only other option for Bates, but even so, that would at least offer time to make a stronger case on his behalf and secure more evidence on the case.

"What a horrible outcome," Cora said. "I'm sorry that you had to play a part in it," she added looking to Robert.

"I'm sorry that my role did not succeed in sparing him," Robert replied.

"How is Anna?" Edith asked.

"How do you think she is?" Mary snapped impatiently.

"Mary," Sybil said quietly, suddenly more keenly aware of her sisters' tense rapport. "She's just concerned. We all are."

"Of course, you are, I'm sorry," Mary said, looking only at Sybil. "It's been a long day. She's beside herself, of course. I don't know what we'll do without her if . . . the worst happens and she decides to leave us."

"Well, we should hope for the best," Cora said, as Robert nodded.

"I'll write the letter now. With luck, we'll have an answer in a day or so. Let's cling to this last chance."

It was only a remote one, though, so Robert agreed with Cora's decision to put off the shooting party. Given Anna's state, the servants ball was likewise cancelled.

Dinner that night was a somber affair, so Tom and Sybil retired early, not bothering with the drawing room afterward and heading straight to bed. Sybil was tired and anxious, so she drew herself a bath and Tom joined her. They only held each other and took comfort in the warmth of the water, their minds too full for anything else.

Later, as they readied for bed, Sybil asked, "Can it really be possible that an innocent man will hang?"

"I wish it didn't surprise me," Tom replied, "but injustice is not an uncommon phenomenon. Its prevalence may be more evident to those of lower classes, which is why this has hit your family particularly hard, but even those like Mr. Bates, who count on the support of friends in high places, are not immune from it."

Tom climbed into bed and Sybil followed snuggling into him. "I hope papa's letter meets a forgiving recipient. I can't imagine what poor Anna must be feeling."

"She's strong," Tom said. "I hope the worst can be avoided, but she'll make it through regardless."

"Mary said Anna will leave if it happens. I can't imagine the house without her. Mary was counting on her to be her lady's maid. She'll need a friend if she really does marry that hateful man. I'm sorry that it won't be Anna."

"So you don't like him, Sir Richard?" Tom asked.

"I don't think anyone does," Sybil answered.

"Mary must."

For whatever reason, Tom's words stirred Sybil, who sat up and moved to leave the bed.

"Is everything all right, love?"

"Yes, I just . . . I want to check on Mary."

Tom smiled, and Sybil blew him a kiss from the door before heading down the hallway to Mary's room. Once there, she hesitated before she knocked, but seeing light from beneath the door, she quietly rapped her knuckles against the wood, then peeked in without waiting for a response. Mary was in bed, reading by lamplight, her face worn with the travails of the day. She smiled seeing Sybil come in and pulled at the covers of her bed, inviting Sybil to climb in on the other side.

"What a day," Sybil said lying down on the pillow next to Mary's.

"I can't quite believe it," Mary responded. "I feel a bit detached from it all, like I'm in the middle of a waking dream."

"You were very good to have gone with Anna. It can't have been an easy thing to watch."

Mary smiled sadly. "It was only the outcome that was difficult to take in."

"Will Anna really leave the house if papa can't secure a pardon for Bates?"

Mary took a long moment before answering. "Well, yes and no."

Sybil sat up, shooting Mary a look of curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"She doesn't want to stay at Downton, and I certainly can't blame her for that, but if I go, she said she'd like to come with me."

"You mean to Hacksby?"

"No, not there . . . New York. I may stay with grandmamma, just for a while."

"Would Richard go with you?"

Mary shook her head. "I'd go there if I do decide to end things with him, which . . . well, I'm not sure, but I may."

Sybil took Mary's hand. "Darling, if there is any doubt in your mind, and there seems to be quite a lot, then you should be rid of him, but why would that require you going to New York?"

Mary sighed. "It's rather complicated—he knows something about me that will likely end up in print, and I'd just as soon avoid the mess it'll make when it comes out. "

"What is it?" Sybil asked concerned and wondering if it could possibly be what she now suspected it was.

"I can't say it, not to you. It would affect your opinion of me if I told you. You may yet find out, but I'd rather not have to see the fresh disappointment in your eyes, if it can be helped."

"I am not disappointed, Mary—well, not about this, if it's what I think it is. If anything about you disappoints me is the thought that you'd think I'd judge harshly you over it."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "What do you think it is?"

Sybil bit her lip, before finally saying, "You and Mr. Pamuk?"

Mary rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Heavens, is there no secret that remains so in this house?!"

"What do you mean?"

"I spoke with papa tonight—it turns out he knew as well. Mama told him very recently. How did _you_ find out? And when? And why didn't you tell me!?"

"I only found out today. And . . . well, first, please don't get angry because I pried it out of her, but . . . Edith told me, and before you say anything, she also told me the role she played, and she believed, like you do, apparently, that I would judge her for her actions."

"So far as attempts to ruin my life go, it was a fair effort, even for her."

"I won't make excuses or apologize for her," Sybil said. "It was a terrible thing to do, and I told her as much. But I'll also repeat to you what I said to her, which was that I don't understand why you dislike each other so much. The enmity between you two is absurd and does harm to you both! Whether you forgive her is up to you, but she's hasn't gone unpunished."

Mary rolled her eyes. "If you're referring to what I said to Sir Anthony Strallan, that barely took any effort on my part and could have been undone by her in one conversation. That she didn't bother to fix things is surely a sign she wasn't so interested as she let on. If it was punishment, it hardly fit the crime."

Not wanting to betray any more confidences or continue to be pulled into the middle of a quarrel that her sisters would likely take to the grave, Sybil simply said, "I don't know why she didn't speak to him on her own behalf back then. Her motives are her own, I suppose. I just don't want to think of either of you as full of hate for the other and unable to get along now that I've gone from the house, not when I love you both so much."

"Well, you should have thought of that when you left," Mary said airily, but a small smile on her lips told Sybil she was only teasing.

"I do miss you," Mary said, "more than I could say. I hope this doesn't make you wish you'd not come back."

Sybil smiled. "I miss you too, and I would never wish that."

"And you aren't disappointed in me?"

"How could the daughter who ran away with the chauffeur be disappointed in the one who allowed a foreigner into her bed."

Mary laughed in spite of herself. "A fine pair we are. Mama and papa are surely very proud of us."

"_I'm _proud of us," Sybil said.

"I'm proud of you, in an case," Mary said. "Tom is a fine person. If we could go back—"

"You'd accept him straight away?" Sybil asked incredulously.

"Well, no. I'd still try to talk you out of it, but I'd least I'd know not to fear losing you forever, and I'd know that you'd be happy."

"I'm am happy, Mary, and you deserve to be as well," Sybil said. "Don't marry him. Whatever may come to light shouldn't matter."

Mary sighed. "I know it shouldn't, darling, but it does . . . to me. Very much. I don't know if I could stand it."

"Could you stand a loveless marriage?"

"Any marriage for me would be loveless."

"Any save one," Sybil said.

Mary looked at her and smiled, understanding that she was referring to Matthew. "That chance has come and gone."

"I think you're wrong. Either that or you don't see how he looks at you."

Ignoring Sybil's words, Mary said, "With Richard, I'll have the life I always wanted, comfortable and dignified and my reputation won't be damaged. It's a strong argument. I don't know that I could handle the alternative."

"But, Mary, if Edith sent that letter years ago now, people know of it, which means you are _already_ handling it. You've _been _handling it. The damage has been so minimal that even members of your own family didn't realize such things were being said about you until tonight."

Mary smiled at Sybil. "I should send you away before you convince me."

Sybil stood to go and said, "I'll leave you, but only so you may think about how strong you are. You don't need Richard Carlise, and you can take whatever he doles out."

"Thank you. I don't know that I believe that, but it makes me happy to know that you do."

Sybil smiled. "Good night, then."

And with that, she closed the door and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Finally, FINALLY! The third and final installment of this story. I am deeply embarrassed that it took me this long, but finding time to write lately have been a major challenge. Merry Christmas, YC! (Though I should be saying Happy Valentine's Day at this poitn ;p)_

_This is the resolution of the Bates storyline, Mary's storyline and the servants ball. There are a couple of conversations from the CS to keep in mind here, the one that Mary and Matthew have in which he tells her to "brave the storm" and the break-up scene with Richard, in which Matthew comes in, fisticuffs happen and a vase gets broken. I didn't include those in their entirety, but I think it's clear enough when they happen and they do happen more or less like they do on the show. Let me know what you think!_

* * *

><p>The house was quiet as dawn broke on December 30th. Sybil had continued to take her breakfast in bed since their first morning at the house, and on this morning, she admitted to not feeling especially well to boot, so Tom once again proceeded to breakfast alone.<p>

Richard had been staying at the house the whole time the Bransons had been there, but he'd gone back to London the previous morning and was due to return to Downton that afternoon. So it was that Robert was alone when Tom came into the dining room. Tom hesitated for a moment at the door, but before he could turn back, Carson spotted him from his spot at the head of the serving table and said, "Good morning, Mr. Branson," in his usual deep, dour voice.

Robert turned to the door, and Tom saw in his face that whatever sleep Robert had gotten the previous night had been fitful. Tom hadn't been lying or exaggerating when he'd called Robert a fair employer when speaking to Richard on Christmas, but it was still startling for Tom to see just how hard Robert was taking Bates' death sentence. Tom knew that Robert's anger over how the trial had unfolded and, ultimately, the verdict had to do with Robert's disbelief over his position not having been enough to change the outcome. The man simply couldn't believe that his money and influence had not had the desired effect. Tom wondered just how much one had to have to believe that the outcome he expected would always come to pass. Even so, however, there was no denying that Robert cared for Bates and had done more to seek justice on his behalf than most men of his position would have done.

Seeing that there was no escape, that he'd have to be alone with Robert and Carson, Tom walked all the way into the room. Robert went back to the newspaper he'd been reading, and after getting his breakfast, Tom sat down on the chair to Robert's right. Robert looked at him over the top of the newspaper but said nothing.

_Bates would never be allowed to sit at this table_, Tom thought, as he looked down at his food. Robert was a fair man and more compassionate, perhaps, than many of his class. _But he's still who he is, and his rules are still what they are._

As he tucked in, Tom couldn't help but smirk, knowing that he shouldn't enjoy the food too much. Once he and Sybil were back in Dublin, porridge would be the order of the day once more.

"What's funny?"

Robert's question startled Tom, who didn't realize Robert had been watching him as he took his first bite. Once he'd swallowed, Tom said, "What?"

"You were smiling just then," Robert said. "I can't imagine what anyone in this house has to be mirthful about on such a day."

"Oh . . . I was only reminding myself not to get used to eating such rich food in the morning. Eggs and sausages are very rare indulgences for us."

Robert's already stern expression only grew more so. "But you have enough to eat? You can tell me all you like about how Sybil doesn't miss this life, but are you at least able to muster enough so that she doesn't go hungry."

Tom set his fork down trying not to get angry and trying to give Robert the benefit of the doubt. _He's a concerned father—that's all_. "No," he said as calmly as he could. "We aren't going hungry. Just because we don't live like you do doesn't mean we don't live well."

Tom wanted to say more, but he didn't want to upset the careful balance that had emerged between him and his father-in-law over the past week, not when they'd only be there for two more days and certainly not when Sybil had been so happy. He picked up his fork again and took another bite, now more self-conscious about what was on his plate.

"Is she happy?"

Tom looked at Robert again.

"I just want to know . . . is she happy?"

"You could ask her," Tom said.

"I could, but I know she'd say she was regardless of whether it was true because she's far too stubborn to admit she might have made a mistake."

"I wonder where she gets that from."

The words were out of Tom's mouth before he realized he was saying them aloud. Tom could feel Carson puff up in indignation from the corner of the room where he was standing. Robert's eyes widened in affront and for a moment Tom wondered if Robert had forgotten that Tom was no longer a chauffeur who was required to be deferential. Robert let out an annoyed-sounding breath and went back to his newspaper.

"She is," Tom said more quietly, "happy, that is—very happy. But she misses you. And she was very sorry that you were not there to see her get married."

Robert's jaw tightened, but Tom could see a mix of emotions in Robert's eyes, including something like regret.

"A part of her will always be here with you, but it was a part of her that she was happy to leave behind. She wants to live in a world in which the likes of you and the likes of me can coexist. That's why we came back—I'm . . . I'm trying to do my bit. I want nothing more but for her to be happy, and I hope that's true of you as well."

"It is. And if she really is happy, then I'm glad."

A charged, but not entirely uncomfortable silence hung between them for several minutes, before Tom asked, "Any news from the Home secretary?"

"No," Robert answered with a sigh. "It'll be a long day of waiting for a simple telegram."

Tom nodded and continued to eat, as Robert sipped what was left of his tea. Robert began folding up his newspaper and looked like he was about to stand when Thomas came in with a tray holding a small piece of paper.

"Milord?" He said, approaching the table.

"Already?" Robert said looking at the paper on the tray.

He looked over at Tom in disbelief, and Tom wondered whether it was fear of its contents that kept him from tearing into it immediately. Indeed, Robert contemplated the piece of paper, held it in his hands, for what felt to Tom like an eternity before finally opening it. The way Robert's shoulders sank as he read the contents made Tom assume the worst.

"He hasn't been spared?"

"No," Robert said. "I mean, not yet. It's not from the Home Office. It's from Murray. He was there early this morning and will have Bates' case heard this afternoon. We'll have the decision tomorrow." Robert turned toward Carson. "Carson, please let Anna know."

"Of course, milord," Carson answered.

"Thank you, Thomas," Robert said, dismissing him. "I've half a mind to travel to London today myself," Robert added after Thomas had gone.

"Will you?" Tom asked.

Robert sighed. "It won't do any good. The man will just feel badgered and may decide not to intercede just for that reason. Our only option is to wait."

xxx

The rest of the day passed quietly. Once Robert shared the news of the telegram he'd received that morning, with little to do but wait, everyone more or less kept to themselves. After breakfast, once Sybil was feeling better and up and dressed, she and Tom went for another walk to the village, paying a short visit to Crawley House to see Isobel and Matthew.

Sybil was grateful for how easily they had welcomed Tom into their fold. As Sybil watched Tom and Matthew talk, she felt a pang in her heart for Mary. Even though Sybil's life with Tom was in Dublin, Sybil thought that if Matthew and Mary could somehow find their way to each other again, Sybil would enjoy knowing that her husband and Mary's got on so well. Sybil hoped that Mary would go through with her idea of breaking her engagement with Sir Richard. Even if Mary went to New York, Sybil knew that so long as Mary was no longer engaged, there was a shred of hope that the marriage that everyone wanted would eventually happen.

Matthew joined Sybil and Tom as they walked back to the house for luncheon with the family. Matthew knew there was little he could do, but even so, he felt compelled to go. In particular, he wanted to talk to Mary. Something she had said to him recently had unsettled him and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. Sybil didn't know his intent, of course. She wanted to say something that would spur Matthew into action regarding Mary, but she wouldn't betray her sister's confidence, and anyway, if Matthew would need that much prodding, if he couldn't see now that Mary wasn't happy, then perhaps he couldn't see her the way he needed to.

Luncheon was served not too long after the three arrived, but once they were all seated, no one was much inclined toward conversation. After, Matthew found himself alone in the library, wondering whether it would be wise to say anything at all to Mary. No opportunity presented itself for him to speak to her in private and he was afraid of pulling her away when others were around, lest he draw further attention to whatever it was seemed to be weighing on her. He'd resolved to leave just then, when she came in, looking like she herself had been looking for a chance to speak with him.

"I was just leaving," Matthew said, standing as she walked up to him.

"Oh? Why?"

"I didn't want to be in the way."

"You're not. How could _you _ever be?"

Matthew smiled in response.

"Why did you come today?" She asked. "Did Papa summon you?"

"As a matter of fact, I came to see you. I wanted to find out what you meant when you said you _had_ to marry Carlisle and that I'd despise you if I knew the reason."

Mary's shoulders sagged. "Yes, you would."

"Whatever it is, it cannot be enough for you to marry him."

"That's what Papa said."

"So, you told him?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"And does he despise you?"

Mary took a deep breath. "He's . . . very disappointed in me."

"Even so . . . please tell me."

Standing just outside the doors of the library, Sybil hadn't meant to overhear as much as she had, and at Matthew's words, she pushed the door until it was only slightly ajar (lest the click of the knob give away her presence) in an effort to give them some privacy.

Hearing Tom coming up behind her, she turned and put her finger to her lips.

"What are you doing?" He asked in a whisper.

"I'm hoping for the best."

xxx

Matthew was long gone by the time Richard returned from London that afternoon. The mood remained solemn around the house at tea time to the point that he wondered if they'd actually received the bad news about Bates in his absence. By the time it was time to change for dinner, Sybil did so on her own, having sent word downstairs that she didn't want to add to Anna's work on such a difficult day for her. Even without help, she managed to finish before Tom, who remained rather confounded by his new clothing even after having worn his tails most of the week. Once he was finally finished, he looked over at Sybil for her to give him her seal of approval. She was standing by the window looking out.

He called out to her, but she didn't answer. He did so again and again she failed to respond. Finally, he walked over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, which startled her and pulled her out of her reverie.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Is everything all right, love?"

Sybil turned and took his hands in hers. "Do you suppose we're ready to have children?"

Tom's eyebrows shot up at the question, and he thought for a moment. "I don't know that anyone ever truly feels ready. I suppose it would be nice to be a bit more financially secure, but my parents managed five kids with less than we have . . ." He looked Sybil in the eyes and smiled, "I love you and I love our life and I know I will love any and all children that come along, so if you want to start making a concerted effort, then I'm all for it." He leaned in and began to kiss her on the neck, just below her right ear, whispering, "Though I can't imagine how much more often we can do it than we already do."

Sybil giggled at his words and ministrations, closing her eyes as his lips moved from just below her ear to her shoulder, where he gently moved the strap of her dress with his hand. "Actually, darling, that's all taken care of. All that's left to do is the preparation."

Her words stopped Tom cold. He pulled back slowly, his eyes wide with surprise, joy and—Sybil couldn't help but notice, to her great relief—a trace of panic. "You mean . . ."

Sybil nodded.

"Already?"

Sybil laughed. "Tom, you just said it yourself. We're intimate several times a day on most days. I'm rather surprised it took as long as it did."

Tom laughed too and pulled her into a tight embrace, which Sybil happily sank into.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

Tom pulled back. "Of course, I am. Aren't you?"

"I am happy . . . and nervous—well, terrified really. It's a joyful terror, of course, but I can't help but worry. We won't have my income for some time and—"

"We'll be fine," Tom said pressing a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry about what we don't have—"

"Only treasure what we do," Sybil finished for him, quoting the words so often said by his mother.

"How did you find out, anyway? Did you sneak off to Dr. Clarkson some time this week that I didn't notice?"

Sybil shook her head. "I went to the doctor back in Dublin. I've known for several weeks, as a matter of fact—more than a month, really."

"And you've kept it a secret all this time? Why didn't you tell me before?"

Sybil sighed. "Mama's letter. It arrived just as I was starting to suspect, and her invitation put the idea in my head that I could tell everyone I loved this wonderful news all at once."

"But you haven't. Is it because of Bates?"

"Yes. With his trial being so close to Christmas it didn't seem right. Then I thought I'd do it at New Year's, as a way to mark a new blessing that 1920 would bring us. But the shadow of his sentence will hang over that now, so I'd made up my mind to wait until we got back to Dublin, but seeing Isobel this morning a flurry of questions came into my mind. You see, she was a mother who worked alongside her husband, and I'd like to think that nursing is something I could go back to. So while you and Matthew talked I asked her about all sorts of things related to her work and being a mother—so many that I wouldn't be surprised if she suspects something now. And I couldn't keep holding it back from you, even if we keep the news to ourselves for the rest of the time we're here."

Tom smiled. "I'm glad you told me. Nothing could make me happier, my darling, but don't let the bad news of the day keep you from sharing something that would brighten your family's spirits—at least I would hope it would be welcome news."

Sybil snickered. "Papa will, no doubt, make some silly remark about a having Fenian grandchild, but not even that will ruin my happiness."

"Nor mine," Tom said, grinning back. After a moment, he added, "If you don't want to tell them now, it's your choice, love, but honestly, I think they'd rather like hearing it from you instead of reading it in a letter."

"All right. Let's go down, and we'll tell them together."

Hand in hand, the two walked down to the drawing room where everyone, including Isobel and Matthew, was already gathered, waiting for them and for Carson to announce dinner."

Sybil stepped to the head of the room, not unlike—Tom thought—the way she had all those years ago when she came in wearing her remarkable frock, the one he'd spied her in from the window. Noticing that she obviously had something to say, all eyes turned toward her and Tom, who stood slightly behind her.

After clearing her throat slightly, she began, "Tom and I wanted to share something with you. I know that this has been in a difficult day, and although we hope for the best tomorrow, when we hear from the Home secretary, the darkness might yet get worse. So in an effort to bring a more hopeful note to the new year, we thought we'd let you know that . . . " Sybil paused for a moment, feeling her heart start to race, suddenly unsure of the faces staring back at her, thinking of how they'd reacted the last time she was in this room with Tom by her side to make life-changing announcement. She felt Tom pull her hand into his and squeeze gently. She looked back at him, smiling, grateful for the support. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, "We thought we'd let you know that I . . . that is, we . . . well, our first child is on its way."

Several gasps echoed through the room. This time, though, the disillusionment and anger of only months ago were replaced by good cheer and disbelief. Cora wasted no time in standing from where she sat and walking over to Sybil and taking both of her hands. "Oh, thank you, darling, for this wonderful news."

Tom watched Sybil's eyes glaze over with tears, as if she'd truly feared what the her parents might say. Cora noticed too and smiled as her own eyes watered. Tom had always thought that, physically at least, Sybil was a mix of both of her parents, but in this moment, he saw how much more Sybil favored her mother and found himself silently wishing for a daughter with the same brown hair and blue eyes and the same adventurous spirit that took them both from everything they knew toward a new country and their future.

"Well," Cora said, turning back to the rest of the group, "this dinner is a celebration of sorts. Carson, will you bring some champagne so we may toast."

"Certainly, my lady," he said, from his corner. "I'll go see to it now."

After he'd gone, the rest of the party took their turns approaching Sybil and Tom to offer their congratulations and best wishes. The last was Robert, and as he approached, the smile that had lit up Sybil's face in the last few minutes dimmed slightly.

"Are you happy for us papa?" Sybil asked.

He looked back and forth between his daughter and the man who had once been his servants. "I should hope that the child turns out as rebellious as you've been, so you may get your just desserts."

Sybil laughed. "Is that really all you have to say?"

"I don't know what his or her life will be like—that's an odd thing to say about a grandchild—but if your spirit lives on in your children, then happiness will never be hard for them to find. It never seems to be for you."

Sybil smiled. "I take that as the highest of compliments."

Robert smiled back, albeit reluctantly. Turning to Tom he said, "I've no doubt you remember my threat about the wild dogs. It goes double for the child."

"As I said then, I expect no less."

After Robert had walked away, Tom added in a whisper to Sybil, "Though I think Isis rather likes me."

Sybil laughed, knowing that fact to be quite true.

Carson eventually returned, and Robert led a toast to the family's next generation and the hope that peaceful and prosperous times would follow them always.

After dinner, the women moved on to the drawing room, where Cora peppered Sybil with questions as to how she'd been feeling, gently suggesting that she quit her job at once. Sybil immediately replied that she'd continue to work so long as she felt physically able and so long as her hospital allowed her to in her condition. Isobel reminded Cora that plenty of women work through their pregnancies without harm to the child to which Violet replied, "Sybil only married a servant, Isobel. She didn't _become _one."

As the older ladies, with Edith among them, continued the conversation, Sybil stepped away, noticing Mary sitting alone quietly across the room. Mary loved seeing Sybil so happy, and she wondered whether such happiness would come to her in her current course.

"I suppose I should be embarrassed that I'm the third daughter but the first to bear a child," Sybil said sitting next to her.

Mary smiled. "Why should you be? You're right on schedule. It's Edith and I who are woefully behind."

"The only schedule that matters is when you're ready and when you're truly happy, and that's determined only by you."

"Is it, really?" Mary said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "So many other forces seem to be at play for me."

"Just because they're there doesn't mean you have to let them matter."

Mary sighed. "You know, I never feel lacking in confidence until I stand next to you and realize that you took the lion's share when it came to emotional strength among the three of us."

Sybil took Mary's hand. "Well, you know how I feel about it, but do what you will and I'll support you no matter what."

Mary smiled and stood. "I'll be back shortly."

Sybil watched her as she left, again hoping for the best.

xxx

After the ladies had gone, Robert and Matthew had stayed in the dining room talking with Tom about his impending fatherhood and Tom and Sybil's return to Dublin in a few days. Robert kept trying to suggest to Tom that he leave his current paper for a better position. Tom acknowledged that he'd need a steadier income when the baby came, but said he'd sooner return to doing mechanic's work on the side rather than write for a paper that was loyal to the monarch, as Robert was suggesting, even if they offered to pay him with the crown jewels.

Richard, never one for idle chatter, had excused himself early on and gone to the library, which was where Mary found him.

xxx

"Where did Mary and granny go?" Edith asked Sybil.

"I think Mary went in search of Sir Richard," Sybil said. "I don't know about granny."

Cora stood from her spot next to Isobel on the sofa. "I'd have thought the men would have joined us by now. It's possible your father wants to retire early again tonight, but he'd have come in to say good night."

Tom came in as she spoke, as if on cue.

"There you are, darling," Sybil said. "We were about to send out a search party."

"Did Robert go up?" Cora asked.

"I don't think so . . . I heard him and Matthew in the library just now. I think they were quarreling with Sir Richard, but I'm not sure. I didn't want to intrude."

"Quarreling?!" Cora exclaimed, immediately heading for the hall. Edith and Sybil followed her, unable to abate their curiosity, with Sybil pulling Tom along behind her. Isobel eventually came after them, not wanting to be left out of whatever was afoot.

Richard was marching up the stairs stone-faced as they walked by the landing. He did not bother to acknowledge them.

Cora continued into the library. "What's going on?"

"Great Aunt Myrtle's vase is broken," Robert said with a sigh.

"As is my engagement to Richard," Mary added more quietly.

Everyone looked around at one another wondering if they'd heard right and unsure as to what the correct response would be. No one ever celebrated a broken engagement, but this wasn't an unwelcome turn of events by the measure of anyone in the room.

Finally, Sybil said, "Shall we ring for more champagne?"

xxx

Sir Richard Carlisle left without fanfare the following morning. Mary caught him on the way out and made an effort to leave things more peacefully than they had the night before. She doubted she'd see him again, but she meant it when she told him that she hoped that he would find a woman that could love him in a way she couldn't.

As Mary watched him walk away, she wondered whether he'd really go through with his threat of exposing her. He was a callous and calculating person, but he hadn't been entirely uncaring with her, certainly not at the start. It was only when he saw that her heart was at war with itself that he'd become aggressive. He'd told her often that he'd fought for everything he'd had. Mary supposed that he didn't know how else to do things.

"Put him and anything that may come out of your mind."

Mary turned and saw Robert approach.

"If a scandal is to come, we'll face it," Robert added. "How much worse can it be, really, than the valet of an earl being tried for murder. That story is bound to get out eventually. Don't know why it hasn't, but perhaps we'll leak it ourselves to take pressure of you."

Mary smiled sadly. "Richard kept it out of the papers, the business with Bates."

"He did?"

Mary nodded. "I didn't know. He said it last night."

"So it will be out now, then," Robert said with a sigh. "Vindictive man."

"I don't know," Mary said. "Maybe he'll publish, maybe not. Anyway, it's out of my hands."

"And so I shall repeat what I said and tell you put it out of your mind as well."

Mary smiled again, this time slightly more genuinely. "Thank you, papa."

xxx

Murray hadn't given word about when news would come, so as the day passed everyone in the house got increasingly nervous, as if the more the waited the less likely it was that the news would be good. When the telegram finally came, Carson wasted no time in running upstairs to the library, where Robert and Cora were.

The news was good, and it traveled through the house quickly: Bates had been reprieved.

Once Robert explained the situation to Anna, she was given permission to travel that very afternoon to York to see her husband. And with the servants ball on once again, the downstairs became a flurry of activity as servants readied the refreshements and themselves for an evening of merriment.

It was in the midst of all of that that Tom walked down to see Mrs. Hughes in her office. She welcomed him in with a smile but was surprised to see him.

"What brings you down, Mr. Branson?" she asked shutting the door behind him.

"I just wanted to say thank you. Since we're off again tomorrow, I wasn't sure when I'd have the chance otherwise. I know how guests put an additional strain on the staff, and God knows none of them wanted to be serving the likes of me, so . . . anyway, thank you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I wasn't really doing anything other than my job, but I appreciate your sincerity, Mr. Branson."

"I don't know if Mr. Carson might have told you but in case not, I also wanted you to know . . . Sybil's with child."

"He did—he didn't say it to the whole staff, of course, just me. I'm very happy for you and wish you all the best."

Tom looked down for a second, summing his courage, than said, "May I ask you something?"

"What?" Mrs. Hughes replied, somewhat puzzled.

"Why didn't you ever tell Mr. Carson that you knew she and I were . . . _friends_?"

The question took her aback. Mrs. Hughes sighed and thought back to that day—how could anyone ever forget the day war was declared—and pictured a younger version of the man stood before her now, dressed in his livery and holding the hand of Lady Sybil, whose cheek was flush with excitement and her blossoming womanhood. And she remembered her warning to him.

_Be careful, my lad._

"How was I to know where it all would lead," she said finally. "No sense in getting you sacked for something that might have turned out to be nothing."

"Well, thank you for that too."

Mrs. Hughes smiled again and stood. "Go on. We'd got a ball to get ready for."

"I hope you'll save me a dance," Tom said, with a grin.

Mrs. Hughes only laughed and rolled her eyes.

xxx

"You and I never danced together at the servants ball before," Sybil said as she and Tom took a turn about the hall with other couples—Matthew and Mrs. Patmore, Edith and Thomas, Cora and Carson—also dancing around them. "That's rather funny, don't you think?"

Tom laughed. "That was entirely intentional, if you remember."

"I know that at our last one, we were afraid we would give ourselves away, but surely before that, it would have been all right."

"Before you knew how I felt I was always afraid, I'd give _myself_ away. I'm afraid I could never be close to you and trust that nothing would happen. Do you remember when we held hands in front of Mrs. Hughes when we told Gwen the news? We ended up holding hands, and she saw us. That was only started by a friendly embrace. Imagine what would have happened if we'd danced."

Sybil blushed. "Fair point."

"I spoke with her about that today, actually."

"Mrs. Hughes?"

Tom nodded. "I thanked her for not telling Mr. Carson. I can think of several people who would have, and I've no doubt he'd have fired me on the spot."

"Heavens," Sybil said. "That was so long ago. What would I have done all these years without you."

Tom smiled. "You'd have fared much better than I would have." Tom fought the urge to stop dancing and kiss her. Instead he only leaned down and slightly pecked her forehead, not missing a beat. "I have high hopes for 1920."

Sybil grinned. "Me too."

xxx

The party ran long past the chime of the clock at midnight. Tom and Sybil would have happily stayed dancing and enjoying the company of their friends until the sun came up. But, given Sybil's condition and the fact that they had to travel the next day, they knew they couldn't very well stay up too late.

When they finally headed up, they looked around to see if any other family members were around, but it seemed that all had retired earlier. They were halfway up the stairs when they heard the front door open and Mary and Matthew come in from outside.

"What in heaven's name were you doing outside?" Sybil asked, walking back down the stairs.

Looking back and forth between her sister and cousin, Sybil saw that they both looked as if they were lit up from the inside.

"What's going on?" Sybil asked.

Mary was grinning. Sybil couldn't remember ever seeing so much happiness in her sister's face.

Matthew looked at Mary and took her hand. "We have news."


End file.
